Flowers From Lisa
by New Days Dawn
Summary: House Wilson slash implied. Set in Act Your Age. Ever wonder what happened when House went to the flower shop? Inspired by something my best friend said on housewilson's discussion of that episode. Warning for House being his offensive self.


Flowers for Lisa

For Sailor Lilith-Chan

----------

He'd been almost ready to close the shop and leave early to beat the traffic home when he heard it: the sound of breaking glass and pottery and more variants of "fuck" and "shit," some not even in English, than he had heard since he was discharged from the Navy.

It was his fault for letting a scruffy old bum like that in the shop, he told himself as he walked over to help the man from his place on the floor to the side of the destroyed display. "You okay?"

"Your floor is wet," the "bum" said as he reached for his cane, the cause of the destruction. "There's no need to call 911. I don't like them," he said, reaching for his wallet. "They do things like arrest helpless cripples like me."

"You could have been more careful, buddy. I don't sell flowers for my health," he said, grabbing a broom to start sweeping up the mess as he let out a hearty sneeze.

"That's obvious, 'cause you've got the puffiest face ever. You look like a walking allergy drug advertisement, and you're still here working with what makes you miserable."

"You mean yourself," the shop owner mumbled under his breath, slapping away House's hand as House poked at his face. "You a doctor or something? I've a good mind to tell you to get out of my shop and mind your own damn business."

"Actually, I am a doctor. Doctor Gregory House, Greg to my friends, sex rocket to the whores, and Madame Chacha to all of the queens, but unfortunately I must shop like anyone else," House said, twirling his cane a bit for emphasis. "And I want the gayest bunch of gay flowers that a gay man ever put together."

"Did you just say you wanted the punchiest punch in the oldest face that a former boxer ever could throw? I think my hearing's bad too."

"No, asshole, your hearing's fine. I want flowers that speak louder than words, flowers that scream 'I'm taking you from the recesses of Narnia to the moon and back out to San Francisco.' Get it?"

The shop owner reached for the phone. "If you can't find something good to say-"

"I'll find something bad to say," House finished for him as he finally read his nametag. "And pay you for all those flowers I knocked over. _Now_ do you want me to leave, Ted?"

"Why don't you pick your own damn flowers?" Ted asked. "You'd know more than I would."

House leaned against the counter, looking as if he was about to crash through it as well. "If I wanted to _pick_ flowers, I'd have gone to a _garden,_" he said, speaking as he would to a five year old at the clinic. "I went to a _florist_ so y_ou'd_ pick them. Isn't that your job?"

In his mind, he imagined the bundle of floral clay to be a voodoo doll in the shape of House, the stalk of each flower another pin. "You'd better pay for all the damage you caused."

"I have a cane," House snapped. "Would you prefer I brought my motorized wheelchair? Your shop isn't exactly cripple-friendly."

"Then why didn't you go somewhere else? You're blaming _me _for _your_ carelessness? I've a good mind to kick you out and sue you for the damages-"

"But Teddy-boy, you haven't made my very gay bouquet yet, have you?" House whispered. "You know, maybe you can't say it with flowers."

With that, he had enough. His hands flew as he shoved pinks, purples, long tall stalk shapes, anything he could into the clay just to get it over with, just to get the insulting old long-faced crank out of his shop so he could go home and make a post to customerssuck that no one would forget. "There," he gritted out as he shoved the bouquet over the counter. "Are you happy now, you bitter old bastard?"

"I'd be _elated,_" House said, "if you'd actually fill out that card saying who the sender is. How is he going to know who sent him the flowers-"

"They could be an anonymous gift," Ted said as he shoved one last huge pink chrysanthemum into the bouquet. He only wanted this man out of his shop ten minutes ago, not to stand here debating with him over signing the card. "Or you could be a man and sign it, since they're to your boyfriend."

"But then, you're assuming I am a man," House said, laughing at something that only seemed to amuse himself. "Consider me Madame Chacha for the day, and sign this card for me, dah-ling."

Ted's jaw dropped as he stared for a moment before finding some words that weren't an imminent death threat. After all, as much as he wanted to make one right about now, scaring this loser wasn't worth jail. "You, you're an insult to-"

"No, I insult everyone. You, however, are an insult to the fine art of flower arranging," House said as he grabbed the bouquet and changed the position of some flowers. "You're telling me you were never in Okinawa? What kind of sailor were you?"

"Wait a damn minute. You told me to arrange those flowers-"

"And you did it wrong," House finished as he moved around a couple more flowers, positioned the stalks differently.

"Listen, I've been a florist for twenty years-"

"Really?" House asked sarcastically, finally seeming satisfied with his changes to the flowers. "Then why can't you fill out a simple card?"

"You never told me what you wanted to say. I'm a florist, not a psychic," Ted snarled, grabbing a pen from the jar near the cash register. "Tell me, pay me, and don't ever come back."

"They're from Lisa," House said nonchalantly. "That's my boyfriend's secret bedroom name for me."

"Why am I not surprised?" A quick scribble, and he stuck the signed card in the flowers, taking the wad of bills House threw on the counter as payment. "I'll deliver them tomor-" he tried to say, but there was no one there, and House had disappeared surprisingly fast for a man walking with a cane.

Suddenly, he realized he felt much happier. "Whoever you are, Lisa's boyfriend, you have the patience of the saints," he said to no one in particular, as he turned the key in the lock of his shop's door.


End file.
